Meeting the Man in Red
by pottachu
Summary: Oneshots based on people Vash has helped along his journey. Read in no order. One person can make a difference. Chp 7 On a busy street, two brothers meet and befriend Vash, who aids them during a terrifying incident...What does it take to save someone?
1. A Simple Donut Girl

"$$30 worth of donuts, please, Miss."

I looked up, and my eyes met my costumer. He was obviously not from around here. I didn't know many people that could get their hair sticking up like that, nor had I ever seen a coat so red.

"Wow," he blinked, "you _are_ the prettiest donut girl I've ever since."

Privately, I wondered if it was sarcasm or if he meant it sincerely.

I didn't reply, but quickly bagged his donuts and took his money. When I was reaching for his change, he grabbed my hand. My heart jumped and in puzzlement, I raised my eyes.

"You can keep the change," he told me and then added, "as a tip."

"$$20?" I asked, bewildered.

"Oops, did I give you a $$50?" He asked, checking his pockets. "Oh well, yeah, keep it."

After issuing one last smile, he departed with a slight spring in his step. "Donuts!" He exclaimed.

"Do you eat anything besides donuts?" A priest asked him. He had dark hair and was sitting at a table directly in front of my donut booth.

The red-coated man grabbed one of the priest's sandwiches and popped it in his mouth, and then seated himself across from him.

"Hey Needle Noggin', you're paying for that," the priest said, pointing to the red-coated man's mouth.

He swallowed, and enthusiastically opened the bag I had given him.

"Oh wow! Can I have some Mr. Vash?" A large brown-haired girl next to the priest asked.

The red-coated man said something I couldn't hear, and then all three of them, and a violet-haired woman sitting next to them, looked up at me.

I suddenly became aware I was staring, and turned away, pocketing the $$20. It must be nice to have so much money that you couldn't tell the difference between bills.

Quickly, I busied myself, making more dough, wondering if they were still staring at me.

"These are delicious!" I heard _Mr. Vash_ exclaim.

During my shift, I chanced glances at the mysterious strangers, until they had left- the violet-haired woman looking completely annoyed.

….

Several times during the week, Mr. Vash bought donuts from me, always leaving at least a small tip.

"Keep the change," he would tell me.

I watched him and had taken an interest; never had I received such a devoted costumer, and one so peculiar.

On most occasions, he was accompanied by one of the three other people I had seen. On Wednesday I watched the violet-haired woman chew him out. When he reached my counter, he rolled his eyes as the woman muttered something about "moral fiber" and on Thursday it was the priest trying to provoke Mr. Vash to comment on a deep discussion. But on Saturday, he came alone.

"I could use some donuts, please," he said.

His smile looked painful, because it was forced and didn't hide the fact he seemed thoroughly saddened.

And then after I had handed him his bag came the "keep the change."

"But Mr. Vash- _sir_, it's $$50," I cried.

Appearing slightly startled I knew his name, he answered, "surely you could use some extra money, even a donut girl such as yourself- who makes delicious donuts- could use it more than I could."

"Thank you," I answered astounded.

He sulked away and sat down at his usual seat, and began devouring the donuts with sudden vigor.

I couldn't deny it, the money given to me from this one Mr. Vash, had helped me a lot. Ever since my mother had fallen ill, I had taken up her donut career, and was trying to find the money to take her to a doctor and to pay for my two little brothers' stomachs. On top of that, I hadn't been to school for weeks, and pondered if I would ever return.

Everything had felt hopeless until Mr. Vash had started handing over his money. Some days I felt I couldn't take it, but he would insist- pointing out that the most considerate action to take was to accept it humbly.

Compared to Mr. Vash, all my other costumers exchanged money for donuts in almost silence. They muttered something under their breath as they left, and those that did talk, like Mrs. Keish, would go on to express her feeling towards the newest gossip and the nastiness of the latest news. I listened to them, keeping a mental note that I probably couldn't believe half of what I was hearing.

After a few more occasions of Mr. Vash buying donuts, I realized something unusual. He was always happy…or at least he tried desperately. Very few people, compared to Mr. Vash, seemed to care to smile when I handed them their bag of donuts, or to express such gratitude. And then here was Mr. Vash exercising all possible to keep smiling. His euphoria began to rub off on me, and I looked forward to seeing him with every purchase.

I began to exchange his ecstasy. I smiled at my costumers, and asked them questions. Some grasped the moment, and others disappeared into town with the same mournful look glued to their faces.

Whenever I saw Mr. Vash coming, I tried to suppress my smile, but let it break through as he pranced away with a bag of donuts in his hands.

….

"And then Mrs. Johnson, she says she's moving, but, oh, it's not because her husband is retiring…I've heard there are other more personal reasons, but if you ask me," Mrs. Keish leaned closer to me, but I hardly paid attention to it. "They're going to get divorced. They're going away for that, just like the Lanners did."

"Here are your donuts, Mrs. Keish." I interrupted.

She took the bag, and continued babbling about the Lanners, who I thought had been quite a fine family, but apparently their son had been getting into trouble ever since he was three and the daughter had drowned their cat in the toilet.

Mrs. Keish's gossip was strangled from my hearing when I saw the spiky-haired man dashing madly for my donut booth.

The shorter woman looked astounded at Mr. Vash's actions.

"How can you think of donuts in a time like this?" She bellowed.

But Mr. Vash was closing in, and now the priest had taken the authority of chasing him down.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Keish," I said as Mr. Vash reached me, breathless and urgent.

"I really need a donut," he said, eyes livid and body full of adrenaline.

"Hurry Mr. Vash!" I heard the larger woman call.

"Hey, Spiky!" the priest growled, grabbing Mr. Vash's red coat. "What the heck are you doing? You've got to get out of here!"

Something was going on, and it sounded very serious.

"I need a donut!" Mr. Vash hollered.

"Spiky-!" The Priest glared, and when Mr. Vash didn't budge, added. "Then make it quick!"

In five seconds flat I handed him a donut.

"Here," he said hastily, and thrust $$50 into my hand. "And keep the change."

"Spiky!"

"But donut girl…keep helping your family even though-"

"How did you-?" I was interrupted.

"Needle Noggin', how long do you want your life to be?" The priest asked, and with one last forceful tug, Mr. Vash's back was turned to me.

I watched him run towards the other girls, who were looking frantic.

_What was that all about?_ I wondered. _Would he be okay?_

"_Who _was _that?_" Mrs. Keish asked.

I felt her gaze on me.

"I don't know," I answered, to avoid becoming part of her flying gossip.

"Uh-huh," she said, unconvinced, and I could tell gossip was already brewing inside her mind.

After a sly smile, Mrs. Keish departed and I began to make more donuts.

….

My house was a tattered building, but my home was priceless. When I entered it that evening, my brothers sprung on me in excitement.

"Emily, they say mom's probably going to be good!" Jacob said, his brown eyes sparkling.

"Who says?" I asked.

"The doctors! They said she has monoimiama!" Jaxon explained.

"Pneumonia!" Jacob corrected.

"She's at the doctors?" I asked.

"Yeah, didn't you hear?" Jaxon asked.

"That man named Vash-"

"With the crazy hair!" Jaxon stuck his hands on top of his head.

"He took her to the hospital to be tookin' care of by one of those really good doctors."

"Those ones with the crazy hand writing!"

"Not _all_ of them have crazy hand writing."

"Most of them do!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah!"

To prevent further arguing, I grabbed Jacob's shoulders and looked into his freckled face.

"The man in the red coat took mom to the hospital? But we can't afford- _did he pay the doctor!_" I asked.

"Oh yeah! A lot of money!"

"Don't forget the priest!" Jaxon inserted.

"Yeah! And the priest worked some magic! But mom will get better if the doctors keep a watch and she stays in bed and she gets proper medicine."

"And _then_ they played ball with us."

"You played ball with strangers?" I asked, astonished.

"They said they knew you," Jacob justified.

"Well, don't let it happen again," I sighed.

Moments after I had finally succeeded in settling them down, I pondered more on Mr. Vash.

He had always given me extra money without hesitation…how long had he known of my family's despair, and how did he find out? Why was some tourist doing this for me when my fellow citizens were doing nothing?

The next day I searched for him more than ever, but he didn't return, not that day, and not the days after. Weeks passed, and even when I had bravely snuck back into school and my mother had returned to her donut business, I kept a look-out.

Was he okay? What had happened since his last visit?

He had given my family life again, and put hope back into our eyes. With a simple smile, and a gracious heart, I was living again. I had a future, and so did my mother. How could I ever repay him? It sounded impossible. And still I pondered if he would ever know what it meant to me. The gracious heart inside of this man re-introduced love into life and restored hope to a young teenage "donut girl"; good is still present in the world- it will never be gone as long as we are willing to see it, and hope will never be lost as long as we believe in the good that surrounds us.

If I ever run into him again, I will try to repay him, but for now, I would just have to accept it humbly.

Author's note:

Thank you for reading! Please critique, I am always looking for ways to improve my writing, and am always interested in how readers think and feel about my stories.


	2. The Traditional Mayfly

Coldness invaded quickly once the suns had gone down. It was that time of year when they departed over the horizon early in the evening. My hands were kept warm in my pockets as I stood next to a tall sign that designated this corner the bus stop. Here, the buses usually arrived later than anticipated; I believe this happens because the drivers forget how rickety and bumpy the road is to get to this town. My husband's bus was no exception.

His departure was for a small business trip- he was away for only a few days, and I had already missed him.

I was the only one still waiting at the bus stop for his arrival. A popular saloon was nearby. It normally wasn't too crowded this early in the night, and I thought I was safe. I heard three loud drunks leaving it, and as they headed my direction a dark fearful emotion settled over me. Being finally blessed with a mother's intuition, I knew they were dangerous. I stood closer to the sign when their loud laughter sounded behind me. I stayed stiff and rigid. My mind waiting for them to stagger by, but my heart knew they wouldn't. I consciously checked my apparel. My dress was long in all directions, and my coat was buttoned up. With my hands in my pockets, the only skin visible was my face and two inches of my ankle. I told myself I was safe and my heart to calm down. Its thumping was a strong sign of over reacting… or so I had thought.

"Hey little pretty," one drunk breathed behind me, his voice raspy and scratchy like his horrid face.

I knew better than to reply, but my ignorance seemed to do little to diminish his mortal male desires. I forced my breathing still and said a prayer silently.

The three men came closer to me, their shoes disturbing the rocky ground. I stared down the road before me, waiting for the headlights of the bus to appear any second. Any second my husband would be here.

"Hey! I was talking to you!" The rough man cried louder. "Are you listening to me?"

All at once a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and whipped me around. My heart skipped a beat as my eyes found his threatening ones. The scent of alcohol protruded from his breath and smalls spots of humidity landed on my face. The other two men were standing on either side of him looking both pleased and impressed with this man's actions.

"Waiting on the corner for someone?" He asked. His fingernails pressed the coat deep into my skin. "We're looking for a good time- I think you're just what we need."

The man on his left let out a squeak of glee that turned and knotted my stomach. I glanced back at the road but found no headlights to rescue me.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He raged. With his free hand he grabbed my jaw line and jerked my head back in his direction. Then his hand on my shoulder moved drunkenly down across my back. He was trying to be seductive, but I could not think of anything less attractive or frightening. My chest rose and fell quickly as the other two men closed in on me. His hand traveled dangerously low.

At once I threw my weight away from him. His hands left my body and I was in a desperate mode of escape, my heart pounding so loud it irritated my senses. I had made it several feet when thick arms wrapped around my middle. In a panic, I struggled to push free of them and succeeded to only crash roughly onto the ground- a worse position for the circumstance. I tried to crawl away, but my dress was making my motions vulnerable.

A gunshot went off. My conscious searched for my bullet wound, praying only it was not in my abdomen. Another sounded, and another. That's when I realized the shooting wasn't coming from my pursuers. I scrambled away as the drunken men stood dumbfounded.

"Move!" An unfamiliar voice pierced the air with seriousness. I didn't dare glance back to see what was going on or if any of the men had been shot, but I heard a rough sound of shoving. Then the air fell silent apart from my distraught breathing. A hand thrust itself in front of me and for a moment I felt alarmed, unable to pinpoint when the sound of feet had neared me. This man was too stealthy to be drunk. I grabbed the gloved hand. It felt cold, even under the fabric. Slowly and ever so cautiously, I stood up with his help. He didn't glance at me but continued to stare fixed at the other men, his right arms extending a large silver handgun.

"Are you hurt?" He asked quietly, keeping his eyes frozen on my pursuers.

"It's not me I'm worried about." I paused. Was that my voice? I sounded panicked and devastated.

"I didn't shoot them," my rescuer answered. "Just shot into the sky to startle them."

I was offended with his answer. I could care less about these men, shot or not, they weren't my worry.

"No need to have that weapon around," one of the drunks spoke with slurred speech. "We's just having a little fun."

I latched onto the man next to me, my lock digging into him as hot tears entered my eyes. My stomach contorted and oxygen couldn't enter my lungs fast enough. Reality was quickly closing in on me.

"That's no way to treat a lady," my rescuer proclaimed casually. "If you're going to have a night out at least find a woman that's suitable for someone as low status as yourself. Although I'm unsure as to where you'll find one of those…" he stopped thoughtfully. "And anyway, she deserves as much pleasure as you do. In other words, I highly suggest you leave, or else my gun may find you elsewhere. It's your call."

Tears were treading down my face now, being absorbed by this stranger's coat. I could feel my saliva run thick, and as my chest heaved for oxygen, smell the gunpowder and dust on this fabric I was so close to. His left arm wrapped around me, holding me close and calm. Several grunts and undistinguishable words wandered in the air, followed by shuffling feet. They were leaving. I felt my rescuer's body moved as his right arm dropped to his side, I could sense his eyes heavy on me.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asked gently.

I lifted my face from him, wiping my tears away vigorously before they could turn cold against the chill air. I wanted to see him and thank him, but my vision was blurred and my heavy breathing unceasing.

He put his other arm around me in a loose embrace. "It's okay, your safe." He told me. "It's okay."

Slowly I began to regain myself. "Thank you," I said thickly. I looked up at him finally. His eyes were concerned and his face calm. The large fifth moon was shining in the sky behind him, making his silhouette slightly colorful with its light. His coat was big, out of the ordinary and a shade of red- dark in the night.

"I had a bad feeling those guys weren't your type," he said kindly.

After a situation like that I couldn't understand how he could act so ordinary, but then again it was apparent he wasn't a normal individual. I knew few people who would have helped me, and I knew some who would be glad to join in on the situation. Yet how was it that this man had just saved two lives and I had never encountered him before? He was peculiar to put his life on the line to save a stranger. Suddenly my mind encountered a sickening suggestion and I stepped quickly away from him.

"I don't have any money," I said boldly. "And my husband will be here any minute." I gave him an angry look.

"That's good," he sighed, ignoring my glare. "I would wait here all night to ensure your safety if I had to, but I would enjoy at least a little sleep."

I raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"When will he be here?" He asked.

"His bus is late. He was supposed to be here 30 minutes ago."

"Oh…" was all he said, and then he smoothly put away his silver gun. "That's why you're out here all by yourself. It's dangerous for women of your age."

_Evidently_, I thought, _though I never expected to see men so drunk this early at night_.

"Ideal to take advantage of- no offense," he added, eyeing me.

I heaved a sigh. "What a nasty shock they would have received if they had found out I was already pregnant."

"You're pregnant?" He blurted. Then a small hint of a blush overcame him and he looked suddenly submissive- I think I even saw a sliver of fascination behind his green eyes.

"Four months," I replied. A sense of overwhelming occupied me again as the words left me. Several tears left my eyes once more as a look of utter realization occupied the man's face.

"No wonder you weren't worried about yourself," he answered, and then rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy. "Will they… he or she," he corrected himself quickly, "be alright?"

I wiped my face again, and for once the man looked unsure of what to do. "Is there anything else you need?" He asked

Feeling slightly embarrassed of my emotional status, I apologized.

"No," he said at once. "I like to help." A sheepish smile overcame his face. "I search for the elusive mayfly of love…"

Curious choice of words. "What do you mean?"

"There's enough horror and bloodshed in the world," he said serenely. "Anyone can find it- it's easy. But there are so many different loves, that it's too hard to distinguish with words," he said with an expression of deep thought, his eyes focused inwardly. It was at that moment when I realized how tattered and worn he looked, maybe even old, though his stature looked young and strong.

His eyes found mine and new life occupied him as a small smile spread across his face. "Yours is more traditional- never ending and completely incomprehensible to me."

What in the world was this man talking about?

"Your child," he pointed to my middle, "the purest and most innocent love, he- or she- is half of you and half of who you most adore. I cannot pinpoint what it must take for that love." He admitted. Once his words were out he sheepishly turned away and some of his stature diminished as his eyes stared at the bus stop sign.

I felt suddenly appreciated and important. He was a peculiar man, far from the mundane. We fell silent and I could hear music starting to play from the saloon; it was jazzy and up beat.

After a moment, I wandered over to the abnormal stranger.

"You may have saved two lives today," I said, looking up at his still face. "Why?"

"It would have been wrong not to attempt to." He answered, staring up into the sky.

"But that's what everyone does. You don't even know my name or who I am."

"You're a kind and unselfish person. You have hope and strength to stand firm to whatever comes your way, but your name? Well, you're right on that one." Another smile flashed across his face.

"Olivia Brown," I introduced.

"Vash," he replied offhandedly.

An odd idea entered my mind at the sound of the familiar name, but I waved it away. There must be a dozen people who shared the name, and I knew this man wasn't a killer no matter how peculiar he was.

"I think the bus is here," he spoke, slipping his hands in his pockets.

I peered out on the road and saw bright head lights shining in the distance. My body warmed. The closer it got, the lighter I felt until I might as well have been walking on clouds when it came to a halt. The door squeaked open and passengers began to file out drowsily, some looking sick. Finally Clyde Brown exited and I rushed to him in an emotional hug, blocking the way for the other passengers until he ushered me to the side.

"Olivia, are you alright?" He sounded concerned.

Without a word, I put my hands on his face and brought him into an expressive kiss that he took gratefully, but left a blush for the public. I buried my face in him as I told him what had happened. His smooth palm rubbed my back affectionately. Unable to contain myself, I kissed him again. Then my eyes wandered to find the peculiar man. He was standing a distance off, his hands in his pockets and staring up at the sky, but his eyes seemed elsewhere. He looked… lonely. We made eye contact and he quickly looked away. There was a story embedded deep inside him either about someone he had once loved or maybe someone he could not, I'm still not sure. But I saw a hidden yearning behind his eyes as I held Clyde.

"That's him," I told my husband. "Vash!" I called out.

His eyes snapped back to mine and I led Clyde over to him.

"To what do I owe you for doing such a great service?" He asked.

"Nothing," Vash replied solemnly.

"There must be at least something you could use," Clyde insisted, "at least one thing you want."

"No," he shook his head. "You have both already helped me," he answered. His eyes lingered on mine and then he turned away. Without another word he slowly drifted from us with some kind of reverent focus in his steps. And I thanked God that day, that there were people out there as peculiar as him.


	3. Marbles

Marbles. It's a simple game with high technique. Each move is made with great precision and thought. I was well known all over the town as the champion. This week I had claimed Joey's and Mike's most prized marbles. Joey's favorite that I had won was a large pastel swirled one, it was almost indestructible. Its surface was gleaming with power and if it hadn't been for my superb skills and excellence in precision, it would have always belonged to the chump Joe.

Mike's marbles I had won weren't as well known. Some of them are chipped and a huge dent is in that one blue-ish green-ish one- the one I've never much fancied until it was in our tournament and now I realize how much worth it has.

On hot summer days when wealthy people are at school and eatin' that ice cream, us orphans spend our days hidin' out in the shades winning and losing marbles, in my case, always winning.

Like everyone else, I figured today would be the same. Get in the game and come out on top with more marbles to add to my collection. Today, I would keep my interest on Bobby, who had recently nicked a few shiny new marbles from the town market. I wasn't worried about competition. I was superb at this game, and knew all the tricks in the book.

So I thought it would be this normal day when this fully grown man wanders into the shade with this huge stupid smile on his face. I hadn't never seen him around. I knew he was from a different place because I knew pretty much everyone in this area on account that I am also really good at picking pockets. He stuck out like a complete idiot, waltzing around in this huge bright red dress without a care in the world. He had long gloves and huge boots- a really stupid thing to do when it's so hot outside. He didn't care though, I could tell by the look on his face. That baby-ish expression was partly hidden from his large shinning sunglasses, but I was slightly glad this stranger had some sense of mind to wear _at least_ something to help him in this undying heat.

"You guys haven't started playing yet, have you?" He asked Christopher.

I bumped up passed Chris and stared the man straight in the eyes, smashing my eyebrows together to form a look of seriousness.

"This is our territory- go find your own shade to trot around in!" I ordered the idiot away.

"Aren't you guys playing marbles?" He asked me casually.

I folded my arms and stared at him with doubt. "Wha's in it to you?" I asked, keeping my eyes square on him like I was aiming a pistol.

I'm intimidating him.

"I was wondering if I could play too," he announced.

"You even got marbles?" I asked.

"Actually, I just bought some today," he told me. I watched him reach into his pocket and pull out somethin'. "See?"

I peered into his cupped hand.

_Holy Smokes!_ He had brand new marbles. Not a dent or a scratch was on their surfaces. The bright red one looked perfect for agility. The large silver one, if hit at the right angle, would bring anyone down. The mossy green one was medium sized and looked light weight, and the surface of the two little black ones was so shiny that I could see my face reflected on it. I studied them for a moment, pleased to locate a large speck of dirt smudged on my manly face. When I looked at it from my left angle, the dirt looked spectacular- like a large mustache was beginning to form.

"So can I play you?" He asked.

Predictably, several snorts broke out into the air from my comrades. Mike even laughed out loud.

"You wanna play me?" I asked. I could feel my smirk cover my face. "Sure, I'll play."

It took less than two minutes before we had designated a ring in the dirt. I had my marbles ready, and he had his. The game started off like most, important but a little boring. I continued watching his techniques as the game went on. This weirdo definitely has some skill. By the end of the game I might be able to call him someone worth playing. Of course all the other boys were surrounding us, raising the game to a tense level for the old man. All of them were on my side of course- they knew my skill and knew that I deserved those shiny new marbles more than anyone, especially more than this full grown man.

Within like five seconds I had already claimed all his marbles except one, that bright red one. I hit my best marble in his direction and it rolled to a painful stop in front of the bright red one. I was going to lose it. The shot for him was perfect. A third of the boys cried out in anguish. Chris even asked me how I could let my best marble be won by someone I didn't even know. I sent him a glare as I waited for this man to go. The man stared at our marbles, both fairly close to the outside ring, mine closer. He pondered for a moment and then flicked his red one in the wrong direction. The red marble rolled speedily in the other way.

Everyone fell silent. Mike looked confused and dumbfounded and Chris gave the man a look that said he couldn't understand him. Everyone stared at the marbles as the red one came to a stop.

"Whoops," the man said. "My aim has never been very good."

I stared at the situation for a moment, unable to understand this man before me. How could he have missed my marble? It had been centimeters away from his and now it was inches.

"Come on Tyler," Mike said. "You got this one in the bag."

I knew I did, with a terrible move like that I was bound to win this guy.

I sent my marble to the red, but once again it landed just centimeters away. I cursed myself silently. The man looked at the game pondering and then hit his marble in the wrong direction, _again_. Geez, if this man said he knew marbles, he sure didn't. The idiot was hitting his in the wrong direction! We continued the game the same way, my marble just barely bumping his or missing it by centimeters. Then he would continue directing his on the wrong path. He was so stupid! This man must have the worst aim in the world! Even an old graying man could win in these conditions, but he just continued knocking his red marble in the wrong areas until it halted at the edge of the ring.

"This is embarrassing. I really need to practice at this game," he told me.

"Yeah you do," I agreed at once. The idiot.

I carefully aimed my hand just behind my marble. With one quick motion my marble clashed destructively into his and sent it out of the ring.

"Aha!" I cried and grasped his last marble. "You better think twice before you play me again!" All the boys agreed cheerfully.

"Wow, I'm really rusty," the loser told me.

"Were you ever any good?" I asked sternly.

A small smile of defeat came onto his face. He let out a small idiotic laugh. "I guess not."

And that's how the game ended. I saw the idiot around a town a few more times, but he never asked to play marbles, I wouldn't either if I was him- such terrible skill and no match for me. His marbles however, were the best I had ever won and made it easier for me to continue winning. I use them often and wonder how anyone could have such bad aim. It was nearly impossible to lose with them.


	4. The Promiscuous Woman

I always liked newcomers. It gave me a new chance. When this man showed up at the bar, I thought he was one with the better looks, and he had come completely alone. He looked quite shaken when he had sat down. He had placed himself next to me without giving a glance in my direction. I thought this man had something better for me, perhaps more cash than others, perhaps more of a considerate flare.

I let myself stare at him.

I was right next to him and he still didn't return my eyes. His red coat was torn at the bottom, and what looked like dried blood was present near his thigh. Dust still clung to his eye lashes. Apparently he had only just arrived from traveling.

Perhaps he was still injured, but I would take my chance. I had two sons to feed and take care of, and growing up as an orphan, I had no talent to trade away for cash except maybe my feminine figure to the drunkest of men. I was the Jezebel of the town. Everyone, save the newcomers, knew me, but none of them knew my story. Both family life and lonely low life judge me wrongly. They don't know who I really am. They have no idea.

"Excuse me, David," I spoke to the bartender. Finally, he looked in our direction. So many new people had entered that he hadn't been able to get this man's order yet, and I wanted to get there before he did.

"What is it?" He asked me gruffly. I knew his graying face well, and he knew my overdone mask well.

"Get this man a drink," I told him.

Finally the blond looked at me, and I overstretched my femininity to hand David the cash. He looked away.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"Vash," he answered quietly.

I moved closer to him. "Vash, I'm Aluette." I moved my hand out and he shook it quietly.

"You didn't have to buy me anything."

"Oh, don't worry about it." I gave him my flirtatious smile.

"It can get expensive buying all these drinks for everyone."

I felt my expression falter. Perhaps what he said was coincidence but I had the feeling he had heard of me. Whatever the case, I wasn't going to let any good opportunities pass me by, and this man was a good opportunity. By his looks, he seemed to have more kindness than most the men I had spent my time with. In an adolescent sort of way, I wondered if perhaps he liked me as a person instead of as an object. But we hadn't ever met…

I needed to be home before morning, so I thought I would cut to the chase when he received his drink.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" I asked. "Seeing anyone?"

"No," he answered.

"Well, you don't have to be alone. I know a really nice hotel just down the street."

My leg suddenly _accidentally _rubbed by his. His reaction was stoic.

"Don't you have children?" He asked.

My expression faltered again, but I quickly regained it. "They'll be fine until morning," I reassured. "I'm lonely tonight."

"No man here will suffice that," he said. "Not even me."

He definitely was new here. He didn't know, but many of the men in the room had accompanied me on dizzy nights.

"You want someone better," he added, taking a sip of his drink.

"And you aren't?" I asked.

"Me?" He asked grimly. "I'm not better."

"Would you hit me or attack me?" I asked quickly. My comment seemed to soften him.

"No," he answered flatly.

"Then you're much better." My answer was almost a sneer. Evidently he had hit some kind of nerve that I hadn't before experienced.

"But you would still be lonely even if I did… sleep with you."

For a moment I almost raged at his calm stature. He didn't know me, no one did! But I quickly regained myself.

"It would tonight," I said to him.

He turned in his seat to look at me. His sea-green eyes studied every aspect, every indent of my face, lingering longest on my eyes.

"Aluette. It's a pretty name."

I opened my mouth to react, but he continued.

"Where did it come from?" He asked gently.

"It's not my real name." My answer had come out more aggressive than I had intended.

He nodded in acknowledgment. After sipping more of his drink, he spoke again. "And living this way isn't something you really want. I can tell."

"Listen, you have no idea what I've lived like! Don't point your preaching finger in my direction! I've heard it plenty of times! No one knows my story. No one can judge me."

"And that wasn't my intent," he spoke suddenly, as if trying feebly to calm me down. "I meant… well…" he looked away from me. "I can tell you don't really want to live like this. I've met some women that do, but I can tell, you don't want to." His answer was quiet.

"So I'm not good enough for you?" I asked bitterly.

"I never said that," he said, sounding disappointed with my tone. "It just seems to me that you would rather be doing something else to get money for your sons."

"Don't talk to me about my sons," I ordered.

"No, it's not easy," he said finishing his drink. He stood up and I glared at him. "It's this soliciting, that's not good enough for you," he said. He placed a small stack of cash in my hand before departing. Feeling agitated I thumbed through the bills as I tried to block out his words. Then between the last two bills, I found a small business card. For a moment I expected it to have his address on it, or perhaps a name of a hotel in town, but the business card was for a small antique shop in the middle of town. I threw it on the ground, trying to ignore the "help wanted" printed on the back as it flipped in the air.

Who was that man? Why did he say those things to me?

His old seat became occupied by an older man.

"Aluette," he smiled. "I was hoping to find you here."

I could smell his dirty breath as his words reached me.

"Not tonight, Drake," I mumbled. Once standing up, I picked up the small business card. I tucked it in my pocket.

Drake watched me leave. I felt his eyes linger after me, even when the door had shut.

Not tonight.


	5. Under the Nose

I stood in line, watching the clock ticking.

Ticking.

_Ticking._

_**Ticking.**_

All I needed to buy was a small bottle of over-the-counter medication for my upset stomach and increasing monstrous headache.

The clock was stationed right behind the cashier so I could watch the feeble, skinny, little red hand twitch every second.

I was fourth in line, and the lady who was currently buying _all _of her household needs was piling her items on the counter. The mountain of supplies looked like enough to sustain an asylum full of lunatics. She struggled to keep the items from scattering and tumbling to the ground as she stacked them- stacked them into a spontaneous pile with no tensile strength- stacking them repeatedly.

As the skinny little anorexic red hand spazzed passed the twelve, I threw down my bottle of pills. I had an appointment in ten minutes. Ten minutes. I didn't have time to stand, stand, and stand here waiting for the over protective woman to trouble with her building blocks.

I put on my black helmet as I exited the store. I could see my motorcycle across the street at the little café I had stopped at for lunch. The food had been disgusting and a waste of time, but my girlfriend's obsessive friend's sister worked there on Wednesdays and my girlfriend had insisted we go there. Then, after I wasted my money on the pitiful meal, I had been obligated to tip the female waitress an unnecessary amount of money.

Why am I still worried about money? If I go to this appointment, if I get this job, I will be making more than anyone I know personally. Money created opportunity. It was simple logic.

My heart pounded in my thoughts as a sense of nervousness weaved through my body. I had to make a good impression.

I was just about to cross the street when I was interrupted by a short woman with short hair, and a short ability of understanding my situation.

"Excuse me," she spoke. "Have you seen a gunman nearby? Broomhead with a huge red coat, and an obnoxious laugh? My partner and I have lost him again. He has a big bounty on his head and we're supposed to keep him in our sight."

I was about to answer shortly when another woman with long brown hair approached.

"Oh, Ms. Meryl, is this young man going to help us find Mr. Vash? Has he spotted him?"

"No, I haven't seen any gunman or anyone. I've got to go though." I answered and made a move to leave them, but the short one grabbed my arm.

"Not so fast," she demanded.

Her tiny little fingers clawed into my skin.

"He's been known to pay people off to lie to us so he can get away." She explained. Her violet eyes burrowed into my body like her fingernails.

"Listen lady, I haven't seen him, but I've really got to go. I have an appointment, and I can't be late to it!"

"What's your name, mister?" The tall woman asked.

"What does it matter? I need to leave!" I pulled my arm away from the short loud woman, and her eyes continued to burn devilishly into me with suspicion. Who the heck were these girls? They had no authority to stop me. I need to get out of here. I had a corrupt headache that was enlarging by the minute in addition to my stress.

"Where are you going?" The short one asked.

"I have a very important job interview at 1:00 and I can't be late to it." I said again.

"Isn't it 1:00 now?" The tall woman asked.

"Nearly. It's about five to, and I've already wasted plenty of time with you and that line in the store, and I have a huge headache!" I growled.

"A headache? I know exactly how to fix that!" The big woman insisted. "At that café across the street they have some special herbal tea. Get some of that and it should fix it right up!"

Her happy mood couldn't have disgusted me more. How could anyone be so careless? She seemed like the person who floated sickeningly through life while people like me were struggling and being productive.

Suddenly, I realized I didn't have to stand here and listen to them at all. I couldn't. Without another word I left them and darted across the street. I heard the big woman tell the short one that I was probably on my way to get some tea right now.

I grumbled to myself. How could people be talking about tea when there was so much cursed work to be done? Perhaps the women came from rich families and were handed everything they needed on a wooden platter. They probably didn't know what real work was. Searching for a gunman, huh? Well, good luck getting anywhere with that. Those two were definitely not fit to keep a deadly man under their care. It was probably better they didn't find him.

I rushed for my motorcycle and reached for my keys.

I reached for my keys…

My keys…?

I began searching through my pockets frantically. My keys were missing. My blasted keys weren't here.

My eyes darted to the street, to the two women who were now turning around the corner, to the store.

I fumbled in my pockets again. My fingers grasped the fabric of my clothing, and I could feel their feeble attempts against my skin.

This could not be happening. This was the time for my life-changing job interview. If I got this I could be in the plant engineering field. It was going to be my career and my support. And I was going to miss it because of keys.

"Shoooooot!" I yelled loudly.

I glared at the faces that turned in my direction, mustering up the ugliest expression I could think of.

"Hey, mister!"

"What is it!" I spat and jerked my head toward the voice.

It was the man those girls had been looking for. He did indeed have a "broomhead" and was wearing a vibrant red coat.

"Are these yours?" He asked. Then he held up a shining ring full of keys.

I darted for them.

"I found them inside the café," he explained. "I was waiting inside to see who they belonged to."

Once they were in my grasp, I scurried to get on my bike.

"Hey," he spoke again and placed one of his gloved hands on my motorcycle. His fingers rested on the handle bar. "You might want to slow down."

I looked up at his characteristic sunglasses. The yellow tint of the glass and their circular design probed my subconscious. They resembled the two suns burning in the sky, but behind their framework, his eyes looked concerned.

"I'm going to be late for a meeting with the plant director." I explained.

"If you go too fast in life, you'll miss out on what's right in front of you."

"Thank you, sir." I answered. After placing my keys in the ignition, I added "And I should let you know, those two girls have been looking everywhere for you. I assume they are no match for you, you know, but they are pretty determined. They won't find you if you keep hiding from them, even if you are right under their nose."

"Good luck with your job," he replied, and stepped away from me.

"Thanks," I answered and darted onto the street.


	6. Stranger in the Waiting Room

The statement _Misery loves company_ is true. I was completely miserable when I walked in the building, and I wanted all the company I could get. My mom had to drop me off because she had work, so I was actually almost an hour early for my appointment.

I ran my tongue over my teeth when the door shut behind me. Dozens of chairs and they were all empty. Drats.

Still standing in the doorway I wondered where to sit. I wanted to sit as far away from the front desk as possible, but that meant I would have to endure the front-desk-lady calling out my name loudly across the room. The idea annoyed me even when I was the only one here.

I wandered around the room to find a magazine as I thought about it. Toys were in the corner for little kids. Playing with them would be a lot more fun, but mom insisted I was too old for them. I found a magazine that looked like it might contain some comics if I was lucky. Once it was in my hand, I remembered I still needed to let the front-desk-lady know that I was here, even though I was the only other person in the room and my appointment wasn't for 56 minutes.

I hate walking up to the front desk because it's way too tall for me. I can never see the lady behind it and so she becomes this mysterious person. This time was pretty much the same, except I probably grew an inch since last time because I could see the top of her hair, or maybe her hair was just extra poofy.

"Holly Sullivan and I'm here for my appointment. It's not for like an hour," I told the lump of hair that was in my vision.

Suddenly, a clipboard came out of nowhere and halted just before it hit me in the nose.

"Sign in, please."

I scribbled my name quickly on the paper. I darted for the chair far away in a corner before she could say anything else to me. I soon regretted my decision because I immediately felt my stomach knot.

I never got nervous until I was actually at the place I should be nervous for. This was one reason why I was so miserable when I found out I had to wait about an hour before the dreaded jabbing.

I read the cover of my magazine. _Life in the Norm_. What a _boring _title, I thought. At least the cover had a lot of pictures and art. I started flipping through it until I found a couple of lame comics. You know, the ones that are supposed to be funny, but aren't. They did nothing to calm my nerves.

After a few minutes, the front door opened again. I looked up over my magazine to see the next victim. He caught me off guard and was impossible to miss. Even the front-desk-lady called out to him the moment he walked in.

"Good morning sir!"

He took off his headphones.

"Is it still morning?" He asked. "I must be early."

I could tell he was thinking of leaving when the woman handed him the clipboard.

"I have to sign in?" He asked with a frown.

"Of course," the front-desk-lady replied.

"Hm…" He tapped the end of the pen against his lips as he thought. Finally, it came to him. He scribbled something and handed the clipboard back.

I stifled a laugh. Who forgot their own name?

His eyes landed directly on me and I quickly obscured my face with the magazine. I calmed down when I remembered it was unusual for people to read minds, I had only heard about it in stories. I read the comics monotonous now.

Then a large sigh issued over my head. I looked up at the man as he stretched and slumped down next to me. His red coat covered his entire seat. He stretched his legs out in front of him. His boots looked rough and dusty.

I grew nervous when I didn't see him take a magazine. Who was this guy? Suddenly it occurred to me why he couldn't remember his name. It was made up. I was sitting by the window and he must have seen me by myself and came inside. My stomach rolled over. He was a grungy traveler. No one just walked in here looking like that unless.. he wasn't here for the appointment.

"Beautiful morning," my kidnapper spoke.

I looked up into his eyes. They were a peculiar shade of green and blue. Exaggerated blond hair rose up from his scalp and, eh! An earring was in one of his ears.

"Not really," I answered moodily.

I pretended to read my magazine again, but examined him from the corner of my eye. My heart sped up when I spotted a gun in his red coat. He really _was_ here to kidnap me!

"That magazine looks boring," he noted.

I didn't say anything. I was determined to stay quiet. _Never talk to strangers_ I heard my mom's voice in my head. _Especially dusty, worn, gunman_, I added. The silent rule was one I never played. I talked to all kinds of people everywhere, but not now, now I had to be silent.

He eyed me and I ignored it.

"Are the comics any good?" He asked.

I didn't answer.

Finally, he looked away and put his headphones back on. He pressed the play button on his music. I quietly let the pent up air in my lungs out.

I could hear the tune. The melody was an old one… I mean _really old_. My really old grandpa used to sing it every time he visited me. His visits were always so boring because I had to stay in the house all day with him instead of playing with my friends. Not only was it annoying to hear the song, but the stranger started singing it. Quietly at first, but the volume grew on the second verse

"_Soooo… on the second celestial evening…_"

I suddenly realized I had read the same comic three times. I clenched my fists. I grabbed his coat to grab his attention.

"Would you shut up?!" I blurted.

He took off his headphones.

"Sorry?" He asked. "I didn't hear you."

"Of course not," I muttered. "Just be quiet."

"Do you like that song?" He asked.

I didn't answer.

"I like to listen to it in the waiting room because it calms my nerves," he told me happily.

"Well, it's really annoying, and you know, the moment you try to kidnap me I'll yell _bloody murder_! And everyone will hear me because I have a strong pair of lungs!"

This shut him up immediately. He stared into my eyes and I stared straight back into his... but he didn't look alarmed, he looked… sad?

"It's good to hear you have a strong set of lungs, but I'm not here to kidnap you. I have an appointment."

"Oh really?" I asked skeptically. "Then why did you forget your own name? You made it up, didn't you?"

He smiled at me sheepishly. "Well, that part is true," he admitted. "I always make up my name. I have a few I choose from and sometimes I forget which one I use."

"What?" I blurted.

"I travel a lot," he explained. "It's kind of like a game to remember everything."

I shook my head.

"No, you're not a traveler, you're a gunman. I don't see why you're here for any other reason than me. People like you never come here."

"I think I have a cavity," he responded.

I didn't believe him.

"My tooth on my bottom right really hurts," he explained. "Oh, and one of my fake ones fell out."

"What?" I asked, disgusted.

He shrugged. "They don't stay in as well as the real ones," he explained. "It happens once in a while if I get hit in the head."

"What did you get hit with?" I asked curiously.

"Uh…" He diverted his eyes. "I'm a gunman, use you're imagination."

"You got shot?"

"No! Not in the head at least," he let out a small laugh. "I just ran into the wrong crowd."

I raised my eyebrow at him. I didn't understand boys and especially not men. Why any of them ever wanted to become a gunman was beyond me. For some reason they liked all the pain and scars. Sounds like a life that sucked to me.

"Why are you in here?" He asked.

"Heh. When I came into my check up they found seven cavities. Seven! I don't know how it happened. I brush my teeth _three _times a day, I floss once a day, and I only eat candy twice a week."

I was satisfied with his surprised expression.

"I hate dentists," I told him.

When silence visited for a moment, I realized that the talking had loosened the knot in my stomach. I sighed.

"This dentist is pretty nice though, don't you think?" He asked.

"Bill Snyder?" I asked. "I don't think so. Even if I don't shed a single tear when I'm in here he never gives me anything. My cousin always gets something from his dentist."

"Snyder? Last time I came here the dentist was Jim Scott," he told me.

"How long ago was that?" I asked.

"A little over ten years," he answered thoughtfully.

"Ten years? That's longer than I've been alive. I have to come in twice a year." I informed him.

He smiled at me and I spotted an odd spark in his eye. I sat deeper into my seat.

After he looked away, he picked up a nearby magazine. I felt a stream of alarm. I couldn't loose his attention. I had to keep talking to him. Talking to him was the only way to harness my nerves.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" I demanded. The question was perfect because it always got answered, and normally, the answers were long.

His soft eyes left the magazine.

"No." He answered in a clear note.

I waited, but that was it. Disappointment hit me. That question had failed me for the first time.

"Why not?" I asked eagerly.

"Women require a lot of attention."

I could tell he was joking with me. That wasn't the real reason, and if it was, it was pretty lame.

"Not that much," I responded. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

His eyes returned to the cover of the magazine, and suddenly I exploded. I started talking to him about everything I could think of. Once I got going, he put the magazine down. We talked about school, family, food, boys, jobs, pet peeves, hobbies, and even… _the weather_. I couldn't stop myself. For some reason I was telling him everything, even some of my secrets, like the time I got mad at my brother and put his toothbrush in the toilet. The words catapulted from my mouth with ease, like it was finally time to let them roll out of my mid. I told him all about my latest crush, and I didn't even feel embarrassed. I was in the middle of explaining why I hated lima bean soup when we were interrupted.

"Holly Sullivan."

I stopped abruptly. _Oh no_. My stomach squirmed when I looked back at the gunman. He smiled.

"Good luck."

I bounced off my chair and paused.

"Thanks for listening to me," I mumbled. As I said it I began to realize all the stupid childish things I had told him about. What had gotten into me? I felt my face redden.

He slouched down closer to my eye level.

"My pleasure," he told me.

At first I didn't believe him. I rambled so much! Had anything I said even made sense? But he looked sincere. Weird. Boys weren't supposed to look that sincere.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Johannes Kepler."

I looked at him curiously.

"At least today," he added.

"Holly Sullivan, the dentist is ready to see you, dear." I heard the voice from the mysterious woman.

"It was nice meeting you, _Mr. Kepler_," I admitted.

"Smile real big for him, Holly," the gunman told me.

"I'll see what I can do."

I walked away from him, knowing I probably wouldn't see him again. Life was probably better that way. My parents would have scolded me if they saw me speaking with someone who was dressed like that. I shrugged to myself. Not all gunman were kidnappers.


	7. Streets and Sidewalks

We, me, my parents, and my brother, lived in the middle of town on a busy street, and when we first moved there, I didn't realize that street would change my life.

Someone was always on this street at every hour of the day. In the morning you would see people walking their dogs, or people out jogging trying to lose weight, or people on their way to work. I've watched cars, thomases, bikes, motorcycles, and skate boards go up and down our street. Once when I was sick, and mom made me stay inside, I just sat at our window and watched everyone go by. I sat there for hours, and I never saw the street empty. For the five years I lived there, someone was always on it.

I remember the summer my life changed—three years ago. I was nine. I remember watching the people. Some were familiar and some were foreign and some were foreign, but later became familiar. More people were on the street during the summer because there's no school. Education is important to people in this city, so when there's no school, not only are there more kids running around, but all the grown-ups that work at the schools are running around too. Then a lot of them have their families come visit. On top of that, a lot of tourists come to this city because there's usually something always going on.

I remember that summer 3 years ago, and I remember all the people that walked passed our street. I remember seeing an old guy with a huge bruise on his arm that I later learned was an old, faded tattoo because it never went away. I also remember seeing a red-headed girl who always had her hair up in pigtails, a young woman who owned a white cat that followed her, a priest that usually carried a cigarette in his right hand and sometimes a gun or a Bible in the other, and I also remember seeing several girls in sports uniforms, one carrying a huge baseball bat. But the person I remember most from that summer was a guy in a red coat who had a fake arm. I knew his arm was fake because of the way he moved it and the way he used it. It was like my dad's fake arm. I knew this stranger's arm was fake, and I told him one day.

"Hey, you have a fake arm," I told him.

"You're observant," he answered.

"How did you lose it?" I asked.

"Lost a fight with a sand worm," he answered.

"Woah, you're kidding!"

"Yup," he smiled.

I stared at him dumbfounded for a moment. Now that I was talking to him, I realized he reminded me of some old friends my dad used to have around. They had earrings and cool hair like this guy. And like right now, I often couldn't tell when they were joking with me or being serious.

"My dad has a fake arm," I told him. "He lost his when he was fighting the Bad Lads" or at least that's how his story goes.

"Sounds like you have a tough dad," he told me.

"Yeah, he's pretty awesome," I bragged. "He held off five of the Bad Lads for about 15 minutes."

Just then my brother came outside. Most people don't like their brothers, but I'm going to tell you straight out, I have the best brother in the world. Whenever I have a problem, he's always there to help me and he always gives me good advice on things I've never done before. When I wanted to learn how to ride a bike, he's the person that taught me. The first time I crashed, he told me I did a good job for trying and taking chances. He said that people who crash learn more and learn faster than people who don't. Then, he ran inside and got me some band-aides because I scraped up both my knees. We always played games together, even that summer when I was nine and he was thirteen. He never told me he was "too old" or "too cool" to play cops and robbers or outlaws and bounty hunters, not even when some of his classmates walked by and made fun of him for it. Instead, he ignored them and shot me in the back because I wasn't paying attention. He's always been my best friend.

"Braden, check out what I just caught!" he said. His hands were cupped closed. Once I was peering over them, he revealed a horny toad.

"Is it dead?" I asked. The lizard wasn't moving, and blood was seeping out of its eyes like tears.

"No, dad says they just pretend to be dead to ward off predators."

"Cool."

Suddenly, the sunlight was blocked and a large shadow loomed over me. I looked up. The stranger with the fake arm looked at the creature with interest.

"You should have seen mom when she found it in the kitchen. I thought she was going to have a heart attack," my brother laughed.

"What are you going to do with it?" I asked.

"What do you think I should do with it?" he asked.

I hesitated because it would be cool to keep it as a pet, but mom would probably flip if she found out.

"Mom says wild animals don't live very long when they're cooped up," he reminded me.

We continued to stare at it. It was so still, it looked almost like a toy.

"How long is he going to be like that?" I asked.

My brother shrugged.

"Dunno. As long as he thinks he's in danger I guess."

"We better let him go," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. "But where? What if he gets ran over?"

"There's a big empty lot by the market," the stranger pointed out. "I bet he could live there."

"Yeah, good idea," my brother said. "I'll find a box for him and we can ride our bikes over there."

I watched him run back inside the house. He left the front door open. Once he disappeared from view, I turned back to the stranger.

"That's my brother Spencer," I introduced five minutes late. "My name is Braden."

"Vash," he said, "it's nice of you two to let that lizard go."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, in fact, I waited for him to finish, but he stayed silent until my brother came back. We got on our bikes and he told us goodbye.

…

"You have an earring," I told him two days later when I spotted him on the street.

He stopped and greeted me.

"What made you decide to get your ear pierced?" I asked.

Every time I saw Vash, I greeted him like this. My brother caught on and instead of saying "hello," we picked apart every physical feature on him. We asked him about his hair, sunglasses, boots, coat, gloves, gun, and when we had run out of ideas, my brother greeted him by saying "you have eyebrows," and we started laughing.

Vash would walk by when I was outside alone. He would walk by when I was with my brother. Sometimes Spencer and I were playing ball, and sometimes we were playing with toy guns. One time Spencer was teaching me how to change the tire on my bike. Another time he was letting me borrow his magnifying glass.

Vash wasn't always alone either. A few times he had these girls with him. Their names were Millie and Meryl. They were cool. They had guns too, but they didn't have a fake arm or a concealed knife in their shoes like Vash did. And once I saw that priest with Vash. He was smoking. My mom and dad told me that smoking kills people. I told the Priest that and he didn't seem too happy.

But then something happened just after the middle of summer. My brother and I were playing outside with our toy guns, playing outlaws and bounty hunters, only this time we were both outlaws and we pretended that the people walking by were bounty hunters.

"There are two," Spencer told me. "They're under cover."

"Which ones?" I asked.

"Our neighbor Don," he pointed, "and our friend Vash."

Both were going to be in front of our house in less than a minute, but Don was closer.

"They've been good liars," I told my outlaw brother.

"The best," he agreed. "I'll get Don, and you get Vash."

"What about Millie and Meryl?" I asked.

"They're bounty hunters too."

"You want me to take on all three?"

"I'll come help when I'm done with Don," he told me.

I tried not to laugh when Spencer shot his foam bullets across the street at our neighbor. One hit him in the stomach, one got him in the shoulder, and one got him in the leg.

"Oh no, he's still alive!" Spencer told me. "Hurry, shoot him."

I aimed and fired. I hit Don in the chest.

The bounty hunter put his hands up in surrender.

"Yes you got him!" Spencer said. "Good shooting. Now, stay here in case Vash comes. I'll go get our bullets."

He looked across the street both ways and then darted over the asphalt.

I took aim at Vash. When I was about to shoot, he started running with a horrified look on his face. I thought it was both cool and hilarious that he would take our toy guns so seriously, but when I followed him with my eyes, I realized he wasn't pretending.

I remember opening my mouth to scream, but it must have caught in my throat because no noise came out. My brother was about to die and all I could do was stand there with my mouth hanging open.

Just before he was ran over, I saw a blur of red. Vash's coat looked like a flying flag when he dove in front of the big truck. I heard that awful screeching sound cars make just before a car crash, the sound of stomping on the breaks even when the driver knows it's too late. I watched Vash reach out for my brother, and once his hands touched him, he pushed Spencer out of the way. Vash scrambled to get out of the way too, but I heard him cry "too late," as the car came to him. I remember watching his hands and fingers stretch out, trying to find something to grasp before the impact, searching for something that could relieve his tension, but the asphalt was flat and barren, and his fingers and hands clenched up around nothing when the car drove over his legs. He flinched as both front and back wheel rolled over him. The truck halted a few ways away from us.

"Vash!" Meryl called in alarm.

I watched the two girls run to him.

"Darn, just a little too slow," Vash said. His voice was rough and quiet, like he was carrying something heavy or trying hard to hold something in. He must have been tough, because I know if that was me, I would have been screaming.

"Mille, find a phone, or someone," Meryl ordered.

Millie ran off right away.

Spencer hadn't moved since he had hit the ground. Hoping he wasn't dead, or at least that he was pretending like that lizard, I ran to him. He was breathing, and I helped him up. His face was wet from crying, and once we reached our sidewalk, we turned to find Vash.

Meryl was holding one of his hands that had been so desperate to cling onto something just before the accident. Her other hand was on his back. To my surprise, her eyes were glossy, like she was about to cry too, even though she wasn't the one who got ran over. Neither she nor Vash spoke, I wondered if they could, I wondered if they were both holding something in.

I spotted the blood coming quickly out of his legs. I've never seen that much blood in my whole life. It puddled up, making a color of red just like his coat. Then the puddle grew until Meryl's right shoe was dyed the same color.

The truck's big door opened, and a balding man in a suit came out.

"I didn't see them! I promise I didn't see them! Is he alive?" then he started swearing.

That's when my mom came out. She always seems to pop up when someone starts swearing like the swear words are sirens or something. She called back into the house, and soon both my parents were outside.

"What happened?" mom demanded.

I started to tell her, and I'm not sure why, but that's when I started crying.

"Vash saved Spencer and got hit," my words sounded strange, groggy and thick when they came up from my throat and out of my mouth.

I looked at Vash. He still wasn't crying. He was really tough, maybe even tougher than my dad.

My mom held my brother close to her in her arms while my dad went over to Vash and Meryl. As I watched him walk over there, I noticed how many people had stopped walking on the street and were just staring at us. I ignored them.

My dad and Meryl were talking, and I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but after a while, I heard Meryl say that Vash wouldn't have stood by and watched no matter who it was.

"Come on boys, let's sit down inside the house," mom said. "Dad will make sure he's okay."

"Wait," I said and ran to Vash.

His face was pale, and he was still clenching Meryl's hand. I could barely make it out because everything was blurry behind my tears.

"Thank you," I said. "You saved my brother's life."

"You have a good brother." His voice was weak

"The best," I said, and then I ran back to my mom.

…

When I saw Vash in the hospital and greeted him by pointing out he had two casts, my mom chastised me with one of her looks. Instead of following up with a question like usual, I told him I knew where he got it.

"You got ran over," I said.

"Braden!" My mom quietly hissed.

Vash just laughed. "Yeah, I was just a little too slow," he answered.

He stayed in the hospital for a while, and we visited him a lot. He got better really fast. Even the doctors were surprised.

I was upset when he told me he was leaving the city.

"You better come visit," I told him.

He promised he would, but two years later we, me, my parents, and my brother moved to a new city. We lived on a boring street where only five people walked by, and it was the same five people everyday.

Sometimes when I'm staring out the window, like I am right now, I just sit and remember how I met Vash and how my brother almost got ran over and how Vash _had_ gotten ran over and how different my life would be if it had been my brother. He would have died. If Vash hadn't been there, he would have died.

Sometimes I wonder if I was Vash, if I would be tough enough to do the same thing. Would I have taken the chance to get ran over to save someone I had just met? Would I have risked my life so that someone else could have his?

What did it take to save someone?

People are dying everyday. Sometimes you can see it, and sometimes you can't. Sometimes, they are just dying on the inside, and you might not even know it. So you have to ask yourself the same questions I ask myself, because if you don't, you'll end up being one of those people who stands on the sidewalk, staring. And there's already too many people like that.


End file.
